Extraordinary
by alrightginger
Summary: George Weasley thinks it's going to be an ordinary day after landing his brother in the hospital with third degree burns after another failed experiment. And then he meets a raven-haired girl. Oneshot. Based off the "fuck me" "I'll have to take you to dinner first" prompt. Female Harry Potter.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is just a oneshot I decided to work on to get back into the swing of things with Harriet/George (they need a ship name) after writing so much Jily. It started off as one thing, and then ended up as smut.**

 **So sorry? Not Sorry?**

 **I'm going to work on either Straight and Narrow or LIAF next. Not sure which one. If anyone is dying for an update from one in particular, let me know!**

 **Please review!**

 **Extraordinary**

It's an ordinary day for George Weasley.

That is, if you consider landing your brother in the hospital with third degree burns from a failed experiment for the shop _ordinary._

And he does.

This happens at least a couple times a month, and not always to Fred. Sometimes George gets hurt as well. But today, apparently, it is Fred's turn.

Fred has been admitted, and is currently being tended to by nurse McKinnon ( and by this point Fred and George knew all the nurses and doctors by name), and George is sitting in the waiting room - _waiting._

He's sipping a Coke that he just purchased from a vending machine when in walks a raven-haired girl, and George knows that it's _not_ going to be just an ordinary day.

Because that girl looks _extraordinary._

He's watching her, trying to figure out what to say to such an extraordinary girl, when she walks up to the vending machine, inserts some coins _,_ and then groans.

" _Fuck me,"_ she moans.

She throws her head back as she says it, and George thinks he's in love.

And…

And…

"I'll have to take you to dinner first, and then we'll see."

 _Fucking hell._ Those should _not_ have been the first words out of his mouth to this girl. She turns to face him, and he's staring back, _completely_ mortified, when she starts to laugh. And it's such a beautiful sound that he's willing to make an arse out of himself again just to hear it.

"You're funny," she says, and her voice is just as lovely even when it's not moaning. Though, he'd like to hear that sound again. Her eyes dart to the cola in his hands and narrow. "Did you happen to get that out of _this_ vending machine?"

George's eyes drop down to the offending can. "Um, yeah."

"Well then," she says. "It looks as though you're going to _have_ to take me to dinner after all. Seeing as _you're_ the reason I'm going through a caffeine withdrawal."

"Don't like coffee then?" _Don't ask her that, you dolt! You're getting a chance to take her out, and you're going to screw it up!_ "I mean- I don't - I don't like coffee."

"Hate coffee," she says and her nose wrinkles. "Fucking bean water."

And, _fuck,_ she's adorable.

"Let's go then," says George, throwing a perfectly full can of Coke in the trash.

* * *

Fred was livid when George text him that their mother was going to be the one picking him up. Which is precisely why he sent him such information in a text instead of popping into see him.

 _ **Fred:**_ _What do you mean you met a girl? Who meets a fucking bird in the hospital?_

 _ **Fred:**_ _Hello?_

 _ **Fred:**_ _Get back here you traitor! Don't leave me with mum!_

George smirks, pocketing his phone after turning it off, and opens the door of the restaurant for the girl. She's chosen a pizza place, and it's dark and not too crowded when they enter.

"You know," she says as they're standing in line to order, "I still don't know your name. The only thing I _do_ know about you is that, by either some misfortune or happy accident, you stole the last Coke out of the vending machine, and I have such an addiction that I'm willing to let you take me out."

"George Weasley," he says. He offers her his hand, and then decides at the last moment to raise it to his lips, and it's worth it when he sees the blush tint her cheeks. "And trust me, it's happy accident."

"Harriet," she says. Her cheeks are still pink, but the way she smirks at him is smug. "Harriet Potter, but my friends call me Harry."

"And what are we?"

"Oh, we are most certainly _not_ going to be friends, George Weasley."

And the way she says it, and bites her lower lip sends shivers down his spine.

 _Fucking hell,_ if he's not going to make her bite her lower lip again later. He might even bite it himself.

They order a large pizza and two drinks, and George thinks he's absolutely smitten what with the way she's staring at him coyly as she drinks her soda through the straw slowly. He's never been happier to put his brother in the hospital with third degree burns, and he's going to tell Fred to mention that in his best man's speech at their wedding.

"What were you doing at the hospital anyway, George Weasley?" She leans back in her booth, and arches one eyebrow up at him. "I like your name. The whole thing. I think I'm going to keep calling you George Weasley."

"I put my brother in the hospital with third degree burns after a failed experiment," he says. And it's a rather lame description, and makes him sound careless, but he can barely process a thought at the moment. "I rather like the sound of my name coming out of your mouth."

"Well, then. I guess you'd better get used to me saying it, _George Weasley._ I might even shout it later, if you'd like."

His jaw drops, and his eyes go wide, and _hell,_ he's not leaving this restaurant without this girl.

"Failed experiment, eh?" she asks. She smirks at him as though she knows she's cost him the ability to speak. "What are you? Some sort of mad scientist?"

George grins. He's still capable of _that_ it seems. And after a while, his mouth isn't so dry so he's able to speak.

"Not quite," he says. His voice is hoarse, as though it has gotten stuck. "My brother and I own a joke shop in downtown London, and we were testing a product and it kind of just _blew up."_

"You're _kidding_ me," she practically squeals. " _You?_ You own Wheezes? Oh my god, your name is _Weasley!_ Of course you do!"

"You know our shop?"

"Yes! My dad goes there quite a bit actually. He's a police detective-"

" _Shite!_ James Potter? _James Potter_ is _your_ dad?"

"Yes! You know him?"

Of course George knows him. James Potter is one of his favorite customers, and they trade prank ideas whenever he comes into George's shop. He's used several of James' ideas on Percy. And now George has gone and fallen in love with the bloke's daughter, and he's certain that James will kill him the moment he finds out. He's quite fit you see, and so is his partner who has mentioned quite a few times that James' daughter, _his_ goddaughter, is the light of his life.

"Sirius Black wouldn't also happen to be your godfather, would he?"

"Yes! He is," she's bouncing in her seat with excitement. "I can't believe this."

 _I'm going to die,_ George thinks to himself. _But god is it going to be worth it._

"I can't believe I've never seen you before," says George. "Have you never been to the shop yourself?"

"Oh _no,"_ she laughs. "I'm mostly too busy with school to do much of anything, but dad also said I'm not allowed in there, you see. He said there's a trouble maker that works there who is just my type."

"Did he now?" George is intrigued. He's considering if James will beat the shite out of him if he asks for his daughter's hand in marriage on Monday when he stops by on his lunch break. "And do you agree? Is he your type?"

"Hmmm," she hums as though she's considering the question. "I'd say he is. Is your flat just above your shop then?"

"It is."

"Hold on then," she says. She pulls out a cell phone, and wrinkles her nose as she scrolls through it, before holding it up to her ear. "Remus," she says into the phone after a moment. "I need you to pick up Nanna for me from the hospital. Why?" She looks George in the eyes before answering. "Because I'm about to shag this fit bloke I just met, and I don't think it's going to be rather quick."

George has died. He's died, and gone to heaven, and he's about to shag that angel that guards the gates.

"I'm being perfectly serious," she continues while George is fighting an erection,"and you know how I _know_ you're going to do it? Because I've been reading your text messages, and I know exactly what you and Sirius have been up to _Uncle Remus._ I also know for a fact that my father _doesn't know-_ hmm, hang on and I'll ask."

She rolls her eyes, before holding the phone away from her ear just slightly. "He wants to know if you plan on killing me."

George grins. "Never."

"He says after we shag," she holds the phone away again, and George hears muffled shouting on the other line. "I'm _kidding,_ Remus. Jesus Christ. Look, I'll send you a picture of me post shag so you know I'm alive - _yes,_ of course with clothes on. I'll Snapchat you. What do you mean, 'what if Sirius finds out?' I'm _twenty,_ Remus. Not a nun. He's got to have figured out I'm sexually active by this point. Look, Remus, _Uncle Moony,_ it's the guy from the joke shop - yes, _that_ guy. I met him at the hospital so you'll know where to find me if something happens. Okay?"

She's silent for a moment, and looks across the table at George and crosses her eyes.

"Thank you, Remus," she says, after she's done listening to what George's is certain was a lecture. "Yes, yes. I love you too. Thank you!"

"Everything good?" asks George.

"Box up this pizza for later, and it will be."

* * *

"Off," she orders, tugging at his shirt. She's bossy, commanding, totally in control. And he _loves_ it. "Off _now."_

He's backed her - _slammed her,_ really- into the door of his flat, and it's not even open yet. He tugs his shirt over his head, and he watches as her eyes widen, and she makes a sound akin to a _purr_ of a cat.

" _Fuck,"_ she breathes. "You're fit."

And then their lips clash, he's lifting her up off the ground, and her legs wrap around his waist. Her fingers brush the back of his head, threading themselves into his hair, and it's so tender in the middle of such passion that he thinks he might melt.

His hands fumble to find the keys, and once he locates them, they struggle to unlock the door; and then they're fumbling through the door so quickly that they nearly topple over. And slamming her into the door of his flat was such an inspiration that he presses her against the nearest wall. Her legs disentangle themselves from him, and he turns her roughly to unzip her dress, watching it hit the ground.

And, _fuck,_ is that black lace?

She's incredibly fit herself, - he suspects she must have played some type of sport - but his mouth has gone too dry to tell her so. She smirks at him, as though she _knows,_ and his thumb that has moved to trace her lower lip finds its way into her mouth, and she's sucking it slowly while making eye contact with him and-

"Bed, _now." There's_ his voice. Except he's never heard it quite so husky.

"Lead the way," she grins, tugging on the belt of his jeans (that she had undone at some point without him noticing) and pulling it off.

He lifts her, carrying her bridal style, to his bedroom, and he's trying not to let his eyes roll all the way back in his head what with the way she's nipping at his pulse point and making it beat all the more rapidly.

He lays her on the bed, fulling intending to discard of his jeans himself, when she sits herself up and undoes the button herself, pulling his trousers down until they're puddle on the floor around his ankles.

And…

And…

 _Her mouth is on him._ And she's sucking, and running her hand up and down his length, and he thinks he may cum right there.

" _Fuck,"_ he hisses. One of his hands grips her hair, moving with her as her head bobs up and down, trying to be careful not to push her _too_ far down. " _God - keep doing that!"_

And then she moves _too far down,_ except she's not gagging, and he feels as though his knees are going to give out when she suddenly stops. And it's probably a _good_ thing that she stopped, because he wasn't going to be able to hold out too much longer if she kept that up, but he's also reeling from the lost sensation.

"What the- " He's sputtering. She's busted his brain. "How in the world-"

"I don't have a gag reflex," she grins up at him.

He blinks down at her. Completely dumbfounded. And then he notices she's _far_ to clothed in her black laced bra and knickers. He moves over top of her, wrapping an arm around her waist, and pulling her up the bed, unhooking her bra with one hand, and tossing it on the floor.

" _God,_ you're gorgeous," he says, lifting himself up slightly to take her in. "Fucking gorgeous."

He's kissing her, slowly and tenderly, attempting to drink her all in, his hands moving down to grab one of her breasts softly at first, and then her hand joins his, lays over top of his, and moves it so he's grabbing her more roughly.

And…

" _Fuck,"_ she whines as his mouth moves from hers to latch itself to her breast. He's sucking, her back is arching up off the bed, and she's tugging on the hair at the back of his head. His fingers find their way into her knickers, and then _one, two,_ move inside of her, and she's _so fucking wet_ already. " _Fucking hell- George!"_

"Remember, love," he says, lifting his head so that his lips are hovering just over hers. "You promised to shout it."

He kisses her, and she whimpers into it. And she's so raw, so exposed, so _fucking beautiful._

He kisses down her neck, stopping to bite at the place just below her ear, and enjoying the way she squirms from underneath him. He moves down her collarbone, to the valley between her breasts, down her stomach, dipping his tongue in her belly button, and then his teeth latch onto her knickers, pulling them downwards.

He had thought, when she was bossing him to take off his shirt earlier, that she was the one in control. But now she's underneath him, whining, so submissive. And, _fuck,_ he likes her this way too.

All his.

She looks up at him, grinning, and biting her lower lip. One of her legs hitches itself around his waist, he wraps his hand around it, pushing it forward, and does what he promised himself he would do easier.

He takes her bottom lip between his teeth.

And then he takes other things from her too.

* * *

George wakes up the next morning, head swimming, and thoroughly entangled with something- _someone._ He blinks, seeing Harriet cuddled next to him, and decides not to wake her just yet.

She looks too beautiful, too peaceful to wake.

Last night come back to him. They had fucked once, and made love once.

And if she lets him, he'll gladly take another Coke from her so he'll be able to do it again. He'll blow up the goddamn Coke manufacturing plants if it means she'll be his for the rest of his life.

"Well," a voice says from the doorway. George lifts his head to see Fred standing there. His arm bandaged, and both arms crossed as he leans against the door frame. "I hope it was worth it, you fucking traitor."

"Trust me," says George, tossing a pillow which misses Fred by an embarrassing degree. "It was worth it."

"Just so you know, mum made me spend the night with her, and then she spent the whole time bitching-" His eyes go wide suddenly as he looks at Harriet's sleeping form fully, and George raises an eyebrow at him. " _Holy shite!_ Is that James Potter's daughter? _In your bed?_ You slept with Potter's daughter?"

"Yep," grins George. He knows he'll probably be a bit more frightened later at the thought of James finding out, but right now he's still off a high. "I'm going to do it again too. At some point."

"He's going to _kill_ you, mate," says Fred, shaking his head. "Fucking murder you."

But George thinks it's worth it.

Because she's the most extraordinary girl he's ever met.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm not sure this is exactly what most of you wanted when you asked for a part two to this, but it's what came out, and I feel like I set myself up for a possible third part, but oh well.**

 **I hope, nonetheless, you enjoy.**

 **Chapter Two**

It's a Saturday morning when James' daughter arrives home from University with a basket full of laundry, and a _love bite_ on her neck.

And he snaps the pencil he's using for the morning crossword in half.

"What's that on your neck?" He's wanting his voice to come off threatening. As though she's five again, and caught sneaking sweets. But it cracks in a way it hasn't done since puberty, and the effect is lost.

"A gift from my boyfriend," she says, grinning at him in a way that reminds him of himself, and he's torn between laughing and crying.

" _Boyfriend?"_

"Yep," she says, popping the 'p' in a way that's exactly like her mother. "We've been dating for a month now."

" _Dating?"_

James ought to have known, ought to have _suspected_ as much. Harriet's been acting peculiar lately. _Happy_ lately. Or happier than normal, at least. The type of happy that ends up with blue hair dye in his shampoo bottle, and leaves him both cursing and complimenting her for the amount of time it takes him to get his normal raven locks back.

 _Of course_ there's a boy involved.

"You're not _allowed_ to date," he says, as she snatches the paper from him and corrects one of his crossword answers. "We've been over this - "

"Yeah, yeah," says Harry before throwing her voice in a near exact impression of him, " _no dating till you're forty or I'm dead."_

This time laughter wins out, and James finds his certain brand of charm is more effective coming from his daughter.

"It'll kill me, you know. You dating. Absolutely murder me."

" _Relax,_ Dad. It's not like I'm, oh, I don't know… moving in with the guy after answering a roommate wanted ad like _someone else_ in this house."

James knew that he and Lily should have never told Harriet how they met. It's ammunition against them for the rest of their fucking lives.

"Your mum -"

"Was your _roommate,"_ sing-songs Harriet, as she slides the paper back to him, the crossword fully done. "You guys started _out_ living together."

"That's not - there was that time -"

"She moved out for two weeks, yes, I know. But she came back. And you two _still_ lived together."

Harriet stands and the morning sun that's shining through the open window catches her. Making her glow. Making her bright. And James thinks she's far too beautiful for a boy.

"Anyway," she grins. And even _that's_ bright. "He's coming over for dinner tomorrow night. I've already cleared it with mum."

"Your _mum_ is in on this?"

"Mum likes him."

" _She's met him?"_

"I didn't _let her._ She found out on her own. The woman's got my phone tapped or something."

"Yes, well, she ought to. What with you _dating_ or what have you," says James, rubbing the gruff of his jawline with his hand. "Dinner tomorrow, you say? I think I'll invite Sirius. Maybe Remus."

Harriet snorts. "I know what you're doing. Or what you're trying to do."

" _What?"_

"You think you and your _click_ -"

" _We aren't a click!"_

"- are going to be able to intimidate him, and I'm telling you now, it's not going to work. He can handle you lot."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing," she shrugs, standing and heading up the stairs towards her bedroom. "And if you invite Sirius you're definitely going to be inviting Remus!"

" _What's that supposed to mean?"_

* * *

"Boyfriend?"

"Yes."

" _Boyfriend?"_

" _Yes!"_

" _She_ has a _boyfriend?"_

"Yes, Sirius! For Christ's sake! Grasp the simple fact that my little girl now has a - a _friend that's a boy_ so we can move on to the next step!"

"Murder?"

" _No -_ well, maybe. We'll see. But first we've got to figure out who this kid even _is."_

James can see Moody glancing at Sirius and him wearily from his office to where they're standing in the break room. He can't really _blame_ him. Normally when they're off to the side as they are, they're planning some sort of prank. Something that sends the whole precinct into a state of disarray for the entirety of the day. But today, they're not plotting against their innocent coworkers, but rather, some nameless, faceless _boy._

"Didn't you say Lily knows who this kid is?" asks Sirius. His jaw is tight, and his hands are shoved into the pockets of his leather coat. "Couldn't she tell you?"

"She's refusing to give up any information," grumbles James. "She apparently found out who he is and where he works. She said I'll love him. But I don't trust her judgement."

Sirius nods. "She fell for you."

"How are you my best mate?" groans James, lifting his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, I could do much better."

"Could you though?" grins Sirius. "I'm about to help you cover up a murder."

"True. Maybe we should get lunch first though."

"I'm starved," says Sirius. "Let's stop by Wheezes after. I need more splat frogs to throw at Moody's window.

* * *

"- so anyway, now she's _dating_ and bringing the kid over for dinner tomorrow. So now we're trying to figure out a way to intimidate him, which is proving nearly impossible, because we don't know a thing about the lad."

Wheezes is honestly a godsend to James. It's near his favorite lunch spot, they've got a wide variety of products he is able to get into all sorts of trouble with, and the Weasley twins who run it remind him of himself and Sirius.

He's particularly fond of _George Weasley_ , the twin with a partially blown off ear due to an experiment gone wrong, who is currently checking him out.

" _Dating_ you say," he grins and James suspects he could count the lad's teeth. "That's a shame. Considering we would have made a good match apparently."

The shop is relatively empty save for a few random stragglers, but James knows they do most of their business from students when school lets out for the day. Which is why, he assumes, he can hear the other twin, Fred, sniggering off towards the side as he re-shelves products.

"Yeah," says James, drawing out the word and giving Fred an odd look before jerking his head in his direction. "Is he alright?"

"Him?" asks George, still grinning. "Yeah, he's fine. Just enjoying the new line of fake snakes we got in."

James shrugs, not really able to say much because he's been known to sit around giggling over a perfectly placed whoopee cushion for several minutes.

"I'm beginning to think I should have set you up with her now," sighs James, ruffling his hair. "At least you're the devil I know."

George is done scanning the wide variety of splat things that James has found, but he finds that he's far too downtrodden over the fact that Harriet has a serious enough boyfriend to bring home to get enthused at an afternoon of pissing Moody off.

Which is precisely how he knows he's too far gone.

 _Pathetic old man,_ he thinks.

"How about this," starts George, handing James his bags over the counter, "if Monday rolls around and you decide you really don't like this bloke, fill up a cart of stuff. Free of charge."

James grins, lopsided and just enough to reach his eyes in the slightest way.

"Yeah, alright," he agrees. "What if - by some misfortune - I _do_ like this kid?"

"The only way you'd like this kid if is he was me."

George smirks in a way that reminds James of himself, and he think for a brief moment that, perhaps, he _wouldn't_ mind if his daughter were to date him. And he curses himself for it.

"You remind me of myself," snorts James before rubbing his hand over the gruff of his beard. "So does Harriet, now that I'm thinking about it."

There's a loud, prolonged honk from the car outside, which James takes as Sirius' word that he's ready to go, having walked out while James was checking out their supplies.

"It was _his_ idea to come here, and then he runs out when it's actually time to pay," groans James. "I better get going. You got any weekend plans?"

George grins, his eyes lit up with something almost recognizable to James. The beginnings of mischief, he thinks. "Seeing a guy about a Coke factory."

* * *

Saturday evening rolls around, and James finds himself pacing back and forth in his bedroom while Sirius and Remus sit side by side on his bed watching on.

Dinner is in approximately fifteen minutes, and James feels as though it is somehow both too far away and not soon enough. He feels as though he is suffocating on each minute, each tick of the clock, and when Remus tells him that he ought to sit down and relax, his anxiety gets the better of him.

"How can you sit at a time like this?" cries James, tugging at his hair. "Harriet's future husband could be walking in the door at any moment, and I'm supposed to _sit down?"_

"It's not - it's not _that serious,"_ says Sirius, and James knows that Sirius is, indeed, taking this seriously because for the first time in his life he refuses to acknowledge the pun. "It's just - he's just a _boy."_

" _I_ was a boy," grumbles James.

"Some could argue that you still are," says Remus, clearly bored as he checks his phone. "Honestly, you both should trust Harriet's judgement."

" _Trust her?"_ Remus is a traitor and a liability to their mission. James should have known better than inviting him to dinner. "She's a child!"

"She's _not_ a child, James," huffs Remus. "She's twenty years old, and more than that, she's a _force -"_

" _A what?"_

"A force, _James_. You think she would honestly pick someone that would take away from that?"

No, James doesn't think that. He doesn't think that at all.

Which is why he's close to tears, he suspects. Which is why he's so distraught that he's nearly pulled tuffs of his own hair out. Because Harriet falls in love the way _he himself_ does. Fully, deeply. Just _once._ And whoever this boy is, this nameless, faceless boy, that's about to walk through his front door, but James hopes that he's worthy enough of such a fierce love.

That he's made of something just as fierce.

And yet, deep down and barely unearthed, he _knows_ that he will be, because Harriet has chosen him.

And Harriet's intuition is never wrong.

The sound of the doorbell echoes throughout the house, and James, who hasn't stood still long enough to notice anything other than his pounding heart, is hit with the smell of a roast in the oven.

"James, it's time," says Lily, appearing in the doorway in a yellow dress. Her hair, dark red and shorter than she's ever had it, is pinned up on one side, and she smiles at James as she takes him in. "Oh, James. It's going to be alright."

He allows her to take his hand, so large in her own, and yet she guides him perfectly. Steadily. And he hears the shuffling of feet behind him, knowing that, whatever is on the outside of that door, his mates have his back.

They're down the stairs all too soon, and Lily is opening the door as James is trying his hardest to swallow his heart back down his throat.

And then…

James wonders if his vision has gone, or if he needs a new pair of glasses, for before him is a boy with a shock of fiery red hair, freckles, and a smirk that reminds him of his own.

And, standing next to him, his daughter, who is positively glowing.

"Mr. Potter," says _George Fucking Weasley,_ his hand intertwined with Harriet's. "It's nice to see you again."

* * *

Days turn to weeks, weeks to months, and seasons pass before James. The warm summer sun cools, bringing in the chill of autumn, and it's in the winter - frozen and frosty - that James finds himself standing in the Wheezes shop.

Harriet and George have been dating, and James finds that it's not so hard to deal with. Not when Harriet is the happiest he's ever seen her. And it certainly doesn't hurt that he gets the family discount at the shop now, which is to say, practically whatever he wants for free.

And while Harriet and George are in a constant state of _togetherness,_ his daughter isn't as absent as James feared she would be once a boy was involved. George attends dinner at their house nearly once a week where they are able to play teams at board games for the first time, and James helps him scheme up new ideas for the shop. Harriet is loved by George's family, particularly striking on with his youngest brother and sister who share similar interests, and have also come over to the house a few times, even _without_ George.

And things are perfect.

 _Perfect, perfect, perfect._

Which is why, James knows, George has asked him to come to Wheezes after he got off work.

Because the next step of all this perfection lays in a small box that is slid across the counter towards him. Resting in it, a small _pearl_ ring. Which is what his daughter - his Harriet for just a bit longer - prefers over diamonds.

"I'm going to ask Harriet to marry me," says George. "And I wanted to let you know. Even though she says she's her own woman, and doesn't need anyone's permission for anything."

And James feels a lot of things in the swelling in his chest at that moment, but fear is not one of them.

"I can think of no one better for the job," he says.

And his hand is steady as he hands back the ring.


End file.
